Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams

by Debbi Rawlins

  What the hell…Tiffany was a Porsche kind of gal anyway.

  He finished the hood, threw the rag aside and then stored all the cleaning supplies on the garage shelves he’d had the architect design when he had the house built last year.

  The English Tudor was too big for one person, but on the advice of his accountant, he’d gone ahead and had it designed and built, but customized to suit his needs. Which meant he basically lived in the family room and the third garage where he kept the Chevy.

  Unfortunately, his mother couldn’t see the financial reason for such a big house, that he needed a sizable mortgage to reduce his taxable income. All she wanted to see was that he was finally ready to give her grandchildren.

  Like that would happen.

  At least not anytime soon. There were too many Tiffanys in the world…lovely, willing and able, and wanting nothing more from him than a good time and an occasional trinket. He was of the opinion that you didn’t fix what wasn’t broken. He was extremely successful at dating. Marriage he might not be so good at. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Too many unknowns set you up for failure.

  He checked his watch again. Time to move it. The sooner he got this ridiculous study over with, the better.

  SHE WAS ALREADY IN THE LAB when he arrived, sitting at her desk, head bowed, feverishly scribbling notes. When she heard the door, she looked up and automatically pushed up those ugly, oversize black glasses. And then she smiled.

  Nick had to drag his gaze away from her mouth. Those lips were lethal. “I thought I might be too early again.”

  “This is my volunteer day. I’m off by four.” She got up and came around the desk. Same style of baggy pants and shirt, only the colors were different. “What can I get you before we get started?”

  “I guess a beer is out of the question.”

  “Definitely.” She gave him a bland look. “Same choices as yesterday.”

  “Water’s okay.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t hurry, Doc. I’m not going anywhere.” Unfortunately for him that was true. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the guest chair.

  At the corner of the desk was a silver-framed picture and he went around to get a look at it. The photo was of an older couple standing in front of a church, her parents probably, although she didn’t look anything like them. Other than that, there was nothing else personal on the desk, or the shelves or the walls. Everything seemed sterile in a cluttered sort of way. Given the amount of time he knew she spent here that surprised him.

  “Here you go.” She returned in less than a minute, an Evian for him and one for her. “The recorder is set. We can start as soon as you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.” He unscrewed the top of his water, passed it to her, and then took hers and opened it for himself.

  She seemed taken aback. “Uh, thank you.”

  “No problem.” He took a swig, and then stared as she did the same.

  Except when she tipped her head back and drank, it wasn’t the mere act of swallowing. With her, it was an art form. Her entire face seemed to transform as she performed the simple task, turning it into an erotic pleasure. Her eyes had drifted closed and there was a slight flush to her skin. The way her full pink lips pursed around the opening, sucking in the water, gave him such a rush he immediately sat down, and hoped she hadn’t noticed his growing interest.

  It was crazy. This was Doc, someone in whom he had no sexual interest. Dammit, seeing the woman in the thong two days ago had gotten his motor revved. Brenda would probably call it something like transference. This reaction wasn’t really about Doc. She was just another one of his sister’s friends, career-driven, no passion unless it involved her work. Brenda hung out with those types of people. They all bored him silly.

  Even physically Doc wasn’t his type. The way she dressed showed her inhibition. And the way she blushed when he described his dreams. Okay, that was kind of cute. But their relationship was strictly professional.

  Too bad his body didn’t get it.

  Maybe out of self-defense he’d have to ask about the mystery woman. Seeing her unexpectedly like that was the root of his problem—kind of like a fresh-baked apple pie you can smell and see, but you can’t touch until after dinner. Of course then all you want is that damn pie.

  He shifted to accommodate the snugness of his pants, and took another gulp of cold water.

  She’d sat behind her desk again, and was checking the recorder, totally oblivious to his plight. When she picked up the bottle of Evian again, he nearly dived under her desk for cover.

  This time she took only a quick sip, and then set the bottle aside and spoke into the recorder. “Wednesday, day two. Subject, Nick Ryder.”

  The reminder was better than a cold shower. He was her subject, like a bug under a microscope. That’s all.

  She smiled at him. “How many dreams do you remember from last night?”

  “Two.”

  “Excellent.” Her finger poised over the record button. “Ready?”

  “Sure.” He pulled his folded notes out of his jacket pocket, aware that his mood had taken a sour turn.

  “Do you have a title for this one?” As she started the recorder, there was a teasing twinkle in her eye that surprised him.

  “‘Afternoon Delight.’”

  She blinked, the twinkle was gone and she stared warily at him. “Go ahead.”

  Hell, she’d asked, hadn’t she? He could have been more pithy and called it “Afternoon Quickie.” He cleared his throat, and glanced down at his notes. Not that he needed them. The dream had been another one of those romps that seemed so real that the aftereffects had lingered throughout the day.

  “I’d just gotten out of a board meeting and decided to run home for lunch and to get my gym bag. Except it really wasn’t my house. At first everything seemed okay to me until I got to the bedroom and tried to find the closet, and then I realized nothing looked familiar.”

  “Did it look like your house in the beginning, or did you just have the sense that it was your place?”

  “It looked nothing like my real house, but for whatever reason, I was okay with it. I believed that was my place until, like I said, the bedroom. It was huge and every time I thought I’d found a closet, I’d end up in some cavernous room.” He paused, trying to wade through the foggy part of his memory.

  “How were you feeling at that point?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anxious, curious, afraid?”

  He frowned. “Confused and frustrated. Yeah, I wanted to get my gym bag so I could work out before my next appointment and I was frustrated that I wouldn’t find it in time.”

  She scribbled a couple of words down in her notebook, and then looked up expectantly.

  Nick rotated a shoulder, trying to release the tension retelling the dream had surprisingly caused. “I finally figured I knew where the bag was but when I went into the next closet, it was semidark and the racks were empty. That’s when I started to panic. I realized I was in the wrong house but I didn’t know how to get out. I retraced my steps down the hall, but it was different this time…longer, darker and none of the doors along the way would open.

  “A couple of times I thought I heard a cat, but when I stopped to listen, there was nothing. Just an eerie silence that made me want to get the hell out of there.”

  “Again, how were you feeling?” she asked, and when he didn’t immediately respond she added, “Panicked and fearful, perhaps?”

  “Pissed. Helpless. I even punched a wall and pain exploded in my hand. I couldn’t make a fist. I thought I’d broken it. And then I heard the cat again and forgot all about the pain.”

  When he lowered his voice, Emma rested her elbows on the desk and leaned a little closer. She doubted he even realized he’d dropped to a whisper. He was really getting into the retelling. Feelings of fear and desperation prompted by the dream were resurfacing and played ac
ross his face with intriguing intensity.

  Fascinating stuff. Certainly better than yesterday’s interview. She’d begun to wonder if all he dreamed about was sex. If that had been the case, she didn’t know how she was going to last two weeks. But this was great material. She had to force herself to listen only and not try to start analyzing the data. There’d be time enough for that later. Right now it was important they didn’t lose momentum while he was comfortable enough to express himself.

  The thought came too soon. She wasn’t sure if it was her riveted expression that broke the spell, but he straightened suddenly, wariness etching tiny creases between his dark brows. He picked up the bottle of Evian and took a long slow sip. After he put it down, he didn’t seem in any hurry to resume talking.

  “You were saying you heard the cat again.” Her gentle prompt was met with a reluctant nod. “And then?”

  “I thought it was a cat. It turned out to be a woman.”

  “A woman?” Emma sighed softly. Why was she not surprised? He’d titled the dream “Afternoon Delight.” She couldn’t claim he didn’t warn her. “Did you know her?”

  “Nope. I could barely see her.”

  “Fill in the details from the second time you thought you heard a cat.”

  He slouched in his seat, pushed a restless hand through his hair. Embarrassment wasn’t causing his reluctance. She was fairly certain of that after yesterday’s no-holds-barred interview. She guessed his reticence had more to do with the way he’d let his guard down.

  “Come on.” She smiled. “You’re doing great.”

  His gaze went to her mouth, and lingered for several eternal seconds. And then dread slowly washed over his face.

  “What’s happening? Did you just remember something?”

  “I think so.”

  “Tell me before you lose it.”

  “I doubt I’ll lose this one, Doc.” He exhaled sharply. “I think the woman might have been the same one from the other dream.”

  Emma relaxed, disappointed it wasn’t a breakthrough memory. “That’s not uncommon, especially if she represents a particular person or conflict in your life.”

  His expression immediately shut down. The reference to a personal conflict probably did it.

  “Let’s go on,” she said quickly. “What happened next?”

  He stretched his neck in an obvious attempt to try and relax. “I saw her through the semidarkness. I could barely make out her form, but I could tell she was calling me, waving me toward her. Something told me it was all right to trust her and I moved forward, but she kept backing away. I started to get angry and frustrated again, but then she slipped into a room at the end of the hall.

  “I followed her inside, but couldn’t see her at first. Candles were lit everywhere. There must have been a hundred of them, the flames flickering like crazy and casting all kinds of shadows on the wall.”

  He paused, and she asked, “Was the room familiar to you in any way?”

  He snorted. “It was like something out of a medieval novel. There was a big stone fireplace, the walls were made of stone and the bed was massive with four ornately carved posters. The woman was lying in the middle of it on some bulky handmade quilts. She kind of blended in so she was hard to find.”

  “What was your first thought or feeling when you saw her?”

  “Relief.”

  “And then?”

  A slow smile curved his lips as his eyes met hers. “She was naked, Doc, not a stitch on her creamy smooth skin. You do the math.”

  5

  OH, BROTHER. Emma tried to maintain a blank expression. It wasn’t easy. “So it’s fair to say you got a little excited.”

  “A little.” His grin broadened.

  “And then?”

  “She waved me toward her, and call me crazy, but I ran for the bed.”

  “Could we skip the editorial, please?”

  “But, Doc, you’re always asking me to editorialize.”

  “You know what I mean.” She took a calming breath. “Go on.”

  “I sat at the edge of the bed and just stared at her. She was so beautiful, with her long dark hair spread out over the cream satin pillow, her perfectly curved body and her breasts—I couldn’t look away. They were so—not just perfect but—I don’t know.” He shook his head, staring off somewhere out the window, looking genuinely bewildered. “The areolas were so big and pink and her nipples were like cherries. I absolutely couldn’t drag my gaze away from them.”

  He glanced at her suddenly without a trace of self-consciousness. “You see, Doc, I’m normally a leg and butt man. Don’t get me wrong, I like breasts, too, but this was a fascination I can’t begin to describe.”

  She briefly wondered if she should tell him what she thought this all meant. He wouldn’t like it. She scribbled a note to herself, and then looked up for him to continue.

  His gaze had lowered to her chest, and though there was no way he could see a thing through two layers of thick cotton, her breath caught in her throat and her nipples immediately tightened.

  She swallowed hard and grabbed for her water. The open bottle flew across her desk. Nick jumped up at the same time she did, and in a tangle of arms, they both managed to catch the bottle before it hit the floor.

  Nick’s face was close, his breath warm on her neck. He had a hold of the bottom of the bottle, while she gripped the top.

  “Okay, now what?”

  “Let go. I’ve got it.”

  His elbow brushed her hardened nipple as he released his hold, and it slid from her hand, bounced against the side of the desk, spraying them both.

  To her annoyance, Emma automatically muttered a curse.

  Nick chuckled as he swiped at the moisture on his chin. “Now, Doc, how am I ever going to trust you again?”

  “Sorry, it slipped.”

  “I figured that much out.” He raised a hand and she flinched. “Easy.” With the pad of his thumb, he wiped the dampness off her cheek. And then he studied her with a probing stare that set her nerves on edge.

  “Let’s get back to work.”

  “Emma?”

  At the use of her name, she froze. “You have another drop here.” He touched her face again, a touch so gentle she held her breath in anticipation, a helpless captive of his gaze. “And here,” he said, dragging his thumb across her cheek, his dark eyes boring into hers.

  She wasn’t sure she could lift her leaden feet, but she forced herself to move back before she gave in to the sudden craving to have him rake his hands over her body. “Thank you.”

  She cleared her throat as she hurried around to her side of the desk. By the time she sat down, he still hadn’t moved. He simply stared at her in mute concern.

  “Nick? Do you need to take a short break?”

  “Huh?” He seemed to snap out of his trance. “No, I’d rather get a move on, Doc. I have a date tonight.”

  “Fine.” To her dismay she realized she hadn’t stopped the recorder. Screw it. She had no desire to hunt for the point at which they’d left off. Besides, God forbid she should make Nick late for his date. “Go ahead.”

  He settled back into his chair, damp patches of T-shirt clinging to his chest, molding sinew and muscle, and distracting her. She forced her attention on her notes, pathetic as they were.

  “Okay,” he said, “her breasts were what I was describing, right?” She nodded, and reluctance again crossed his face. “This next part is kind of weird.”

  Great. She gave him an encouraging smile.

  “The woman didn’t say anything but I could tell what she wanted. She kept smiling and then cupped one of her breasts and lifted it up to me. I lowered my head and took her nipple into my mouth. It was so big and round and ripe I thought I’d embarrass myself right there. I tried not to suck on it too hard, but I couldn’t get enough, and she kept pressing herself against my mouth and I kept sucking and sucking until I drew milk.

  “I got embarrassed and pulled away, but she didn’t se
em to mind. She guided me to her other breast. It was like I was helpless to do anything but start sucking again, like I had no self-control at all.” He paused again. “Weird, huh?”

  He’d surprised her with the question and she wasn’t sure she’d find her voice. She was humiliated to realize how turned on she was, how much she wanted his mouth on her nipples. “Most dreams are. Did you wake up then?”

  He shook his head. “She unbuttoned my shirt and started rubbing her palms over my chest, going lower and lower until she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. I was so turned on I tried to help her so we could get on with business, but she wouldn’t let me. I started getting frustrated, and that’s when I woke up.”

  She breathed a relieved sigh. “Do you always dream about sex?”

  “Well, after that I had this dream about a small pretty white dog—”

  “A dog? Oh, God.” She nearly flew out of her chair.

  “Not that kind of dream.” His eyes filled with outrage. “Christ, what kind of pervert do you think I am?” He swore softly. “It was a perfectly normal dream about a lost dog.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  He snorted. “Look who has sex on the brain.”

  Emma wisely reserved comment.

  “I’m a twenty-nine-year-old, healthy, red-blooded male. Of course I dream about sex. But only about fifty percent of the time.” His gaze narrowed. “That’s about normal, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You should know. You’re the expert.”

  At his curt tone, she sighed. “I’ve obviously upset you, and I apologize. I wasn’t judging, only commenting.”

  “I’m not upset, Doc. Just anxious to get this over with. I have a date tonight.”

  “So you said.” She took off her glasses and rubbed the weariness from her eyes. “After you woke up, did you have trouble getting back to sleep?”

  He peered at her, a slight frown drawing his brows together.

  “What?”

  “You have pretty eyes.”